


Past Mistakes

by PenShips



Category: DC's Legends of Tomorrow (TV), The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: AU!Earth Two, Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-27
Updated: 2016-10-27
Packaged: 2018-08-27 09:00:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,946
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8395552
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PenShips/pseuds/PenShips
Summary: When Mayor Snart discovers his first love is on death row, he just has to visit him one last time.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Another little story previously posted on my blog; written for a coldwave challenge and suppose to be a two-parter but unfortunately, idk I kinda like the ending (no spoilers!). Enjoy! :)

Mayor Leonard Snart takes a long sip from his tumbler, savouring the alcohol before he swallows. It burns the back of his throat and he sits back in his office chair, taking another sip. The brown paper file laid open on his desk, its papers scattered in a multitude of directions is cause enough for his strife. The mugshot picture clipped to the first page of the file stares angrily at him and Leonard cannot look at it for too long without needing another sip of alcohol. He sighs, the forlorn sound echoing in his office and he wonders where he went wrong.

He had warned Mick Rory, standing in front of his old childhood home that he could not follow the path Mick intended to tread. Leonard had begged and pleaded with him but he is a stubborn man and refuses to listen to anyone. They had kissed for the last time then before he went off to a life of politics and Mick went off to a life of crime. He remembers the kiss, thinks about it almost every day and longs for the touch of his first love. It’s not meant to be, he repeats to himself. The mantra is tired; he’s repeated so much that it’s lost all meaning. A monotone drone in the back of his mind.

Sitting forward in his chair, he finally works up courage to trace Mick’s face in the photo. The years have been kind to him but Mick’s obsession with fire has not; on the left side of his face, the skin is burnt, blistered and red. He angrily jabs at it, tears stinging his eyes. He could have prevented this, he knew he could have. Leonard knew of Mick’s obsession, it started since he was a little boy but Leonard had always been around to keep him in check, draw him out of the flame’s spell. Without him there, the obsession had been given free reign.

Leonard closes his eyes, breathing deeply. _One, two, three, four_. He opens them again, eyes automatically drawn to the picture. As he continues to trace Mick’s features, a memory rises of soft lips against his neck, hands exploring under his shirt as giddy teenagers, with too much time to spare, explore each other and themselves. He yanks his hands away, the memory painful, a vicious reminder of a time long past. Instead he steeples his fingers and presses them to his mouth, elbows resting on his desk as he continues to watch over his ex-lover.

In that moment, there’s no disputing it. He has to see him, he needs to see him. It’s been a little over a decade since he last laid eyes on Mick Rory but Leonard intends to see him again. The pain in his chest is not dulled by his revelation nor is the overwhelming sense of guilt. He’s not sure they are ever going to be dulled. Shutting the file, he stands up making a beeline for his office door, briefly stopping outside to tell his secretary to hold all calls and cancel all meetings. He needs to do this now, it has to be today…before it’s too late.

…

The room is tiny but whitewashed walls and white tiled flooring makes it seem larger than it is. In the centre of the room, under a precariously swinging light bulb is a grey table and two metal chairs, each facing the other. He takes a seat in one of the chairs and shifts uncomfortably. It had taken a great deal of influence to get this private meeting. Leonard had to call in a lot of favours and he’s pretty sure he’s permanently pissed off the warden at the meta human prison but it’s all worth it.

He waits a good ten minutes, going over what he wants to say before the door opens, a prison guard in a black uniform walks in first, followed by Mick in handcuffs and then another guard. Mick’s burns are healed but the left side of his face now has a waxy quality, like ripple effects in his skin. His expression betrays nothing; in fact he doesn’t even glance in Leonard’s direction. The two guards remove Mick’s handcuffs and are easily dismissed by a nod of Leonard’s head. They leave the room, quietly and quickly.

Mick opts to remain standing where the guards left him and with each passing second, Leonard’s heart sinks. He wants Mick to talk to him. He knows forcing it won’t do any good. Leonard’s having a hard time himself trying to articulate his feelings, what can he say to the man he loves but parted from ten years ago? Seconds becomes minutes and the stony silence stretches on. He shifts again, his backside aching from the hard metal surface.

Finally when he can take no more, he opens his mouth to plead; ‘Say something.’

The look Mick gives him is enough to knock the breath out of his body. Pure unadulterated rage. No one’s ever looked at him like that before. Suddenly Leonard becomes painfully aware that he’s stuck inside a small room with a larger metahuman who has not only the means but probably the motive too to end his life. He tries to reason with himself that Mick would never hurt him but Leonard keeps forgetting that the Mick in his memories is long dead. The Mick he knew and loved was a small time thief but this is a hardened criminal, convicted arsonist and a metahuman to boot. Ten years have separated them and he realises that the man standing before him is a stranger.

‘You called me here,’ Mick says, his voice rasping; nothing like the voice in his memories. ‘Clearly, you have something to say.’

Leonard opens his mouth and then closes it. ‘I-I’m sorry.’

He scoffs, a chuckle rising out of him and as he moves, Leonard hates himself for glancing at Mick’s collar. The black electronic band has a tiny green light flashing, an indication that Mick’s powers are temporarily dampened. It seems his wandering eyes has not gone unnoticed as Mick sneers down at him before taking a seat in the other chair. Leonard feels guilty and yet all the while keeps repeating to himself that the man before him is just a stranger. It would be more convincing if he actually believed it.

‘Relax, Snart,’ he spits. ‘I’m powerless so you don’t have to worry about getting roasted.’

‘Mick, I didn’t m-’

‘You wanted me here,’ he interrupts, folding his arms against his chest. ‘I’m here. I have to ask, is this your bullshit way of easing your conscience before they off me? One last goodbye? Think I’ll haunt you when I die?’ He leans in closer, a twisted smile on his face. ‘One last fuck?’

Leonard’s mouth downturns in disgust, this is a mistake. He closes his eyes and inhales. _One, two, three, four._ Then he opens his eyes and exhales. This is most certainly a mistake, he can see that now. He’d been blinded by the past, by what could have been. It was foolish to think the man he loves lurked anywhere in this criminal. He would just have to come to terms with the idea that the man he’d been continually in love with for the past ten years simply didn’t exist anymore. Standing up, he straightens his jacket and turns to leave.

‘Mr. Rory,’ he says, the words tasting strange on his tongue. ‘I’m afraid I’ve made a mistake. I believed you to be someone I knew long ago.’

Mick surprises him by throwing his head back and guffawing. ‘You are so full of shit.’

He snaps and slams his hands against the table, unable to retain the amount of rage and disappointment he’s feeling. He’s opened those floodgates now and it’s hard to control the emotions washing over him. ‘Am I, Mick? Am I? Look where you are! I warned you not to go down this path and-’

‘Ah, so this is an ‘I told you so’ speech. You wouldn’t be yourself without taking the fucking higher ground. Always knows what’s best for everyone, don’t you?’

‘I do!’ He roars. ‘I knew somehow, someday you would end up here. And I tried everything, save for taking you and chaining you up somewhere to keep you out of trouble. You left me for this life.’

Mick shoots up from his seat, expression thunderous and eyes flashing. ‘Don’t you dare,’ he whispers. ‘Don’t you ever fucking put this on me. You left. You wanted to be this,’ he gestures to Leonard’s suit and tie. ‘You left me because I wasn’t good enough for your new life, your new image.’

‘You are a criminal!’

‘So were you.’

‘Yes,’ he agrees. ‘We both were. Petty, stupid criminals. Things both of us could have come back from. You can’t come back from this Mick and I’m not sure you deserve to.’ The words sting, bile inching its way up his throat the minute he watches Mick’s face fall. He wants to apologise but instead he holds his ground. Mick’s not the only one with a stubborn streak.

‘Yeah,’ Mick nods, his crestfallen expression replaced with one that’s hard to discern. ‘And it certainly wouldn’t be you if you didn’t have a lack of faith in me.’

His stomach churns but still he refuses to apologise. ‘Now that’s bullshit,’ he says. ‘I had so much faith in you Mick. Before our final goodbye, I pushed you to be a better you. I knew you had it in you. In a way, I still think you do but sometimes, you can only push so much.’

‘I remember those days. You didn’t just push me to be better, you wanted to change me. You wanted me to be someone I wasn’t.’

Leonard sighs, the fight already giving him a headache. This is the first time in ten years he’s seen Mick and he doesn’t want it to be tainted like this. ‘I didn’t come here to fight,’ he admits. ‘I came here…,’ he pauses, the words are forcing their way out of his mouth and he knows there is no way he can stop it. Leonard’s not even sure he wants to. ‘I came here because I want you to know I love you. I’ve always loved you. I still love you.’

There’s a pause. A beat, deafening silence encompassing the air around him and then Mick sits in his chair, shoulders slumped, head bowed. Leonard follows suit, taking his own seat. He seeks Mick’s hands resting on the table with his own but as he goes to touch him, Mick yanks his hands out of reach. The rejection stings but Leonard figures he needs time to process.

‘I-,’ Mick says, quietly. He lifts his head, brown eyes meet blue. There are unshed tears in his eyes, an upwards curve to his lips and Leonard can’t help but smile. ‘I-I can’t fucking believe you.’

Leonard recoils, his smile crumbling. ‘What?’

‘You don’t get to do this. You don’t get to come in here and tell me you love me. That’s bullshit. Where were you when I said that? Where was the ‘I love you’ when you left me,’ he’s still smiling but it’s all wrong, twisted, false and his voice is level and calm but Leonard can feel there’s a storm brewing underneath. ‘You don’t get to do this. You don’t. I guess it makes it easy for you. I’m about to die so it takes the pressure off, doesn’t it?’

He furrows his eyebrows. ‘No, that isn’t why. I love you. I don’t want you to die but I can’t do anything, Mick. You killed someone and not just someone, a senator.’

‘You believe that, do you?’

‘Are you saying you didn’t kill Senator Franklin?’

‘Believe what you want to believe,’ Mick shrugs. ‘All you politicians are the same.’

Leonard swallows thickly. He doesn’t want to touch on why that statement rubs him the wrong way. ‘Mick, if there is even a chance that you didn’t do this, you have to tell me.’

For a moment, it looks as though Mick is going to say something that Leonard can feel in his bones will change his life but at the last minute he shakes his head. ‘Nah,’ he shrugs. ‘Doesn’t matter. Even if you can prove I didn’t do it, it will be too late. I’m still a metacriminal. They’re practically cumming in their pants to execute me.’

‘Don’t play those games with me. Tell me, did you kill Franklin?’

‘Do you believe I killed him?’

‘Mick,’ he growls out exasperated and for a moment is drawn back to their youth when simply growling Mick’s name would be enough for him to cut the crap but they are older and that trick doesn’t work so well now.

There’s a knock on the door and before Leonard can say anything, one of the guards who had brought Mick in opens it and pokes his head through. He looks a little sheepish when Leonard glares. ‘Time’s up, Mayor Snart,’ he says.

‘Right,’ he nods. ‘Just give us a minute. We’ll be out soon.’

‘Okay then, Mayor Snart,’ the guard replies and closes the door again.

Immediately after, Leonard turns his attention to Mick. ‘Answer me,’ he says, desperately. ‘Tell me the truth.’

Mick opens his mouth, closes it and then sighs deeply like a man who has grown tired of the world and knows his time is coming. Leonard’s stomach lurches at the thought.

‘I’m going to be executed in two days,’ he says. ‘Promise me you won’t be there.’

‘What?’

‘I don’t want you there.’

‘I have to be there. As the Mayor, I’m invited.’

‘Swear to me.’

He looks over Mick. There’s a desperation in his eyes that Leonard’s never seen there before and for some stupid reason, he feels like he knows in the depths of his soul that Mick didn’t commit that murder. No way, he’d known Mick since childhood and he had faith that no matter what had happened in those ten years they were apart, nothing could make Mick want to kill. Leonard slowly nods his head.

‘Okay, I swear to you I won’t be there.’

…

And true to his word, he isn’t. He had called with tall tales of food poisoning and griping pains. His excuse was received with little fuss and a well meaning ‘get well soon.’ Currently he is draped over his couch, truly sick to his stomach. The thought of Mick dying surrounded by people he hardly knew, people who were there to watch him die with glee and celebration caused a darkness to rise up inside him. A darkness he hasn’t felt since his childhood with his father. The urges it whispers in his ears are dangerous, deeds that could not only cost him his mayoral position but also his soul.

He closes his eyes and underneath his lids, he traces Mick’s face from his soft lips to the flutter of his eyelashes and then to gently ghost over the healed burns. One, two, three, four. When he opens his eyes, he’s feeling no better. Now all he can think of is how stupid he was to promise Mick he wasn’t going to be there. Leonard’s breath comes in quick, sharp concessions as an image of his lover strapped into the electrical chair encircles his mind’s eye. He begins to tremble, a cold like death’s icy grip washing over him, as he winces at every imagined convulsion and twitch from Mick’s dead body.

Leonard sits up, hands rubbing against his face. He then curls his hands into fists and then uncurls them; he repeats this for a while. Soon he grows bored of that so he lies back down on the couch and shifts, once, twice before springing up and kicking at the useless furniture. Finally after encircling around his living room for the second time, he picks up the television remote and turns it on.

A rerun of Friends is showing; it’s the one where Joey buys the chick for Chandler. Leonard watches it in displeasure. The humour seems sour now and lacking in any substance so he switches the channel to news fully intending to only glance at it before finding something else but a headline catches his eye. The remote slips from his hands, crashing to the floor. Its battery casing slides out and the batteries scatter behind the couch.

Iron Heights is on the news. There has been an explosion and so far there has been four reported dead bodies and several grievously injured. He knows the name of the victims before they are being called on the news; it’s the politicians who were at the prison to watch Mick die. A woman in a blue suit is on next explaining something about circuit wires, electrical fires and accidents but Leonard can’t help have a sneaking suspicion exactly who caused it. He sits back on his couch, numbly watching the report. He doesn’t know what to think or feel or do.

He closes his eyes and pictures Mick’s smiling face, _one, two, three, four_ , and pictures him as a metahuman using his powers, _one, two, three, four,_ and the finally he grapples with an image of them in the throes of passion, _one, two, three, four_. Leonard opens his eyes and continues to watch the story as it unfolds, still numb and unsure of how to react. One thing that rings true though is that Mick Rory is most certainly alive and if he wasn’t a murderer before, he certainly is one now.


End file.
